


homeward

by Dorminchu



Series: I'm here for your love and I'll make my stand [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Advice, Dysfunctional Family, Experimental Style, Gen, Hearing Voices, minimalist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorminchu/pseuds/Dorminchu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoba meets a man on the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	homeward

aoba seragaki never knew he had a brother named sei or a grandmother named tae, or even his own name. he wouldn't have cared very much if one told him, because these things were not a part of his life, and he had neither a face nor a memory to recall. he was simply a boy, one of many.

as he grew into boyhood, aoba was forced to concede that he was not the same as other people. in the stirrings of youth, his skin was fair—unnatural, translucent and ghostly. he could see through his own delicate flesh and study his veins and cartilage if he looked closely—and it was at first, an innocent fascination. he could entertain himself for hours.

the other children, however, always stared at him when he approached, a ghostly china-doll full of human organs, and they would flinch if he attempted to make physical contact, as if they were afraid he would crumble at the slightest of touches.

the caretakers were less obvious in their dislike of him, though just as quick to dismay confidence between him and them, be it physical or mental. when they spoke of him, it was not out of spite, but fear and uncertainty.

confused and vulnerable, aoba didn't understand why they were this way, but as time passed he learned to ignore them. there were other troubles, far greater than any act of human coldness could inflict.

once, when he was very young, he grew warm and comfortable in the sun's rays and fell asleep. a short while later he woke up in the infirmary, weeping and inconsolable, with angry red patches all over his exposed skin. for a few years onward he would scarcely go outside, or even linger by any windows for fear of the sun's tyranny.

his hair was as pale as the rest of him, and attempting to tame it brought nothing but terrible pain; even the gentlest hand could hurt, and after numerous attempts on his own, his scalp felt like it was on fire. so he gave up on that, too.

.

.

.

there was a change as he matured. his hair and skin gained enough pigment to mark him as human. his hair was less sensitive now, though colored a bizarre, electric-blue, a further insult—proof that despite all efforts, his was a life destined for alienation and distrust.

how aoba hated the image of himself in the beginning. spurned away, he found solace in the company he kept within his head. two voices—the first deepened with confidence, and the gentler voice was always second—usually they ignored him, but sometimes they did not.

_look, see how they stare at you. you should kill them all, worthless things. then you'll be happy._

_no. you should not do that. there's another way, leave them be._

_i'm you, aren't i? listen to me for a change._

_let them alone. they can't hurt you._

_liar! you can destroy them. it's an easy choice._

_you will be hated more so. do not hurt them._

given these distractions, aoba didn't remember his foster home at the church very well. there were memories, of course, but with the passing of time and the dissolution of their impact on his life, the world around him blurred and stretched into obsoletion. he knew stone halls and earthy floors, meaningless chatter, the smell of wet soil and earthworms when it rained.

sometimes aoba dreamt of men and women dressed in white coats and boots, escorting him down pearly white halls that gleamed with hazy reflections, complementing his dream-self's snow-white skin. the adults, tall and faceless, observed him, speaking critically to one another. he never understood what it meant, but he never had time to think about things.

the voices—named _red_ and _blue_ by aoba himself—argued back and forth during any time of day or night, rain or shine, sleeping hours or waking ones, hissing like steam in the back of his mind, a constant disruption. when it became too much to bear (and it was often so), the boy would curl up into himself and rock and rock and rock until they finally decided to shut up, which usually never happened.

after a good many hours spent in detention and disrupting various school gatherings, aoba, with the help of _red's_ nagging and _blue's_ endless stream of soft-spoken patience, taught himself to face the feedback. he shut out the world and ignored the voices of those around him, because he was always talking to the personalities inside his head. he learned to be calm and emotionless.

.

.

.

but he was lonely and restless, often. always wondering about what lay beyond this miserable existence.

and one spring day, near the falling of dusk, aoba had a sudden, inexplicable urge to just get up and run. and so he ran, away from the church, away from the only home he had ever known for reasons he could not discern in the heat of the moment.

no one stopped him.

on he went, into the dark forest surrounding the church, into the biting embrace of trees and rocks and bushes. he tripped a few times in his haste, and his lungs were raw and his head spun, knees and arms scraped and a little bloody, but he pushed on, crawling, slipping, staggering up to his feet and starting again, over and over and over until….

he came out of the darkness and into a clearing. his feet were bare and dirty. the ground was soft and silky beneath him. sand. wheezing, aoba hunched over, hands on knees, and waited for the sick spinning in his head to clear.

it took him a very long time to realize he could no longer hear _red_ and _blue_ , yet the thought did not concern him in the slightest. there was only the sound of the waves crashing upon the shore, strangely loud after the ceaseless battle in his head.

freedom was a strange and wonderful idea, new to him. he was on a beach, he knew, and before him…an endless body of water, far-reaching as the red-orange horizon.

"beautiful, isn't it?" said a man's voice. aoba looked up and saw a man with red hair and eyes was standing beside him on the beach, and this man was dressed in a strange, billowing suit that was waterlogged. it looked heavy on him. aoba wondered if the strange man lived beneath the waves. the man peered down at aoba, haloed by the sun's dying rays, and said: "the ocean, i mean. i could stand here for hours; watch the sunlight reflect off the waves. then again," he amended, "if i really did stay here, the wonder would fade."

aoba stared blankly at him. no adult had really talked to him before, and never so kindly.

"so you see, i treasure this moment of greatness, brief as it is. then i search for another one. and it can be as grand as this—" he threw his arms out in exaggeration, "—or a smaller thing entirely." the man brought his arms together until they were almost aoba's width, then let them down. "anything can be changed, and never is exactly the same." the boy continued to look at him in childish awe, mouth slightly agape. the man grinned, and aoba shut his mouth quickly. "that's why i came here, though i wonder about you. do you enjoy the ocean, as well? or…" he regarded the scruffy boy before him carefully. "maybe you want to escape from something?"

aoba blinked.

"you're the only one who knows what you're running away from. your eyes tell a story all their own. i could help you, you know." the man leant down to the boy's level, ruffled his hair.

at this, aoba went stiff, but did not shrink back, confused by the feeling of peace flooding through him, even more so by the absence of his urge to run. this man was a stranger, and he had learnt long ago that strangers were nothing but trouble. yet this man was different somehow.

"curious," the man mused, "i see two colors in your eyes. you don't know which is right, so you won't pick. you've shut yourself away, or something like that. but it's actually a simple solution to your problem." seeing the bewilderment in the child's expression, he said: "there's not a thing in the world you don't know. you might fail, sure, but there's always another day. you won't know for sure unless you try."

their eyes locked for a moment, then the man chuckled. "ah…you remind me of myself when i was your age." seconds ticked by. the boy continued to stare intently at the man before him, even after he had straightened up, sighing. "but it's getting late. i must leave you here."

gripped by a sudden sense of dread, the boy shook his head. the man smiled. "don't worry. you'll be fine, as long as you remember this:" he placed a hand over the boy's chest where his heart would be. "when you look at the ocean, what do you feel?"

the boy did not know how to answer.

"as long as you understand this sensation and keep searching for it, you will be fine. life isn't as painful as you imagine." the sun had not yet sank behind the waves, and they were bathed in an auburn glow. "don't misunderstand me when i say life will not be as painful as you think it to be; there will be times where you will only wish you could sink to your knees and let your despair claim you. but listen now—" he gripped the boy with a look so serious that the boy felt a sudden surge of feeling go through him, like a zap of electricity. "it is never the end unless you deem it to be so." then his expression softened. "when all else fails, you can always destroy your foundations and start anew."

the boy was reminded of _red's_ words, but this man spoke of a different destruction _._

"what is your name, child?"

aoba knew the people at the church had a few names for him, but thanks to the endless stream of interruption by the voices in his head, he had never heard any of them, let alone the proper one, clearly. he opened his mouth and the words _i don't know, sir_ rose to his lips, but his throat was constricted. he flushed.

the man smiled sympathetically. "it's alright. i'll give you a name. aoba."

the boy frowned. he cleared his throat, his face contorted in effort, jaw working to conjure up that simple pattern of syllables.

"…aao-aoba?" he echoed. it sounded foreign upon his tongue.

the man nodded. "and my name is naine seragaki. would you like to join me, aoba?"

aoba nodded fiercely. "y-yes."

"then i'll introduce you to my partner." aoba remained pensive. naine took his hand. "come on."

.

.

.

they walked down the beach, a boy and a man in the dying sun's rays.

a woman was waiting for them down the sandy stretch, dressed more casually than her partner, and pink-haired. aoba, ecstatic with the simple pleasure of having someone to talk to, did not find her strange at all.

"there you are! i was just—" she faltered upon catching sight of aoba. "naine, why is there a child with you?" naine smiled, though aoba thought he detected a hint of nervousness in his tone.

"i just…picked him up."

the woman simply stared at him.

"you _picked him up_?"

"yeah."

the woman muttered a particularly foul phrase aoba had once heard one of the teachers use.

"you keep springing this stuff on me without so much as a warning, how do you expect me to react—"

"his name is aoba. i'm thinking of bringing him along."

"bringing him—we're practically kidnapping the boy! does he have a home?"

naine motioned to the tattered robe aoba wore. "the church, i expect. he said he wanted to come with us."

the woman shot naine a look sharp enough to cut the tension in the salty air.

"oh, yes, just because the little kid says it's okay, of course he must know what he's talking about. what does he have to say?"

"together." aoba said quietly. "i'd like to come with you."

the woman seemed to chew on this, catching naine's eye and engaging in a silent debate. after a moment, she turned to the boy, crouched down to meet his eye.

"are you really exempt from the church?" the boy did not respond. "do you not want to return there?" he nodded vigorously. she rolled her eyes. "didn't anyone ever tell you about strangers? we might kidnap you and take you far away."

aoba shrugged. "you don't scare me."

she raised her eyebrows. "oh, really?"

"you aren't that scary, anyway."

the woman laughed nervously. "this isn't exactly the best thing i should do, you know, but…." she was talking more to herself than anyone else. sensing her hesitation, naine suggested this:

"why don't we ask the church if we could adopt him?" the woman faltered.

"i'm not sure that will convince them…" she said slowly, but seeing the look on aoba's face, quickly added, "but i suppose we could ask tae."

"your mother?" asked naine curiously. "are you sure she'll be willing?"

"would you rather he ended up like you?" the woman retorted. "the boy needs safety and we can't offer it."

aoba watched the fight rise in naine's body, then just as quickly drain out of him. while the man faltered and set off down the beach, the woman turned to aoba.

"just between you and me, naine's a bit of a stubborn one. you sort of remind me of him." aoba glanced after naine's retreating figure. "oh, i'm sorry, i haven't introduced myself! i'm haruka."

a quiet smile formed on the boy's mouth, and he said:

"let's go."

.

.

.

their journey took them into the heart of midorijima, and aoba wished the voices in his head would return. he clung close to haruka's leg as they made their way through the throng of civilians, past buildings and curious onlookers until eventually they stopped at a cramped row of apartments. naine walked up to one of the doors and knocked.

an old, portly woman opened the door to greet them. her face was heavy-set with seriousness, her graying hair done up in a tight bun.

"who is this?" she asked, motioning to the boy. naine grinned.

"he's ours."

the old woman stared at the two adults, her face slowly turning pale.

"what are you talking about, ours?" naine looked slightly stunned at this reaction, and he and haruka exchanged a glance. "of all things, a child? where in the world did you find him?"

haruka spoke up. "mother, i—"

"his name is aoba," naine supplied.

the woman glowered at the both of them. "what did you do, kidnap the poor boy? i suppose—"

"listen for a second, mother," haruka cut her off. "he's from the church, and he wanted to come with us."

that stopped the old woman in her tracks. when she spoke again, her voice was low.

"the church? by the sea?"

"he just about begged to come with us," haruka said. the old woman was now gazing intently at aoba, who stared back curiously. after a moment, she sighed.

"i suppose i deserve this," she muttered. aoba frowned slightly, looking from the solemn old woman to naine and haruka. the old woman lifted her head, and looked to the adults in resignation. "i'll contact the church, then."

haruka blinked, apparently taken aback by the swiftness of the other woman's conformity.

"good of you to agree, tae." naine said, smiling despite the glare the old woman threw at him.

"get inside," tae said to aoba. "as to you—" she addressed the two adults "—we will not discuss this here."

the door closed and aoba was alone with tae. he watched her walk around the room, rifling through drawers, not looking at him. he felt small in her presence.

"i'm sorry, aoba," she said finally, her voice soft. "you didn't need to hear that." she turned to face him. "your room is going to be up these stairs on your right." aoba glanced over at the staircase. "i know i'm not your parent, but…i'll do my best to provide you with a home, as long as you're willing to help me."

aoba nodded wildly. anything would be better than his previous home. the old woman offered him a fleeting, sad smile, and asked if he wanted to see his room.

it was a simple wooden dwelling, unfurnished but free of dust, with one mat for sleeping, a table, and a dresser for his clothes. there were some colorful yellow flowers in a vase on the windowsill. "call me if you need anything," said tae, and retreated back downstairs.

as he took in the new room, aoba didn't know what to feel. happy, sad, excited and fearful, and a dozen other emotions that swirled around his head like the voices of _red_ and _blue_.

he wished naine and haruka would come back.

alone and hurt, aoba plopped down on his bed, clutched his pillow to him and wished that he was strong enough to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Different style. Also, hello, DMMD fandom! You haven't seen the last of me. Read and review, if you'd be kind.


End file.
